The Night He Locked Me Out

I stood barefoot outside my own home, one hand pressed protectively against my pregnant belly.

My clothes were soaked.

My hair clung to my face.

My feet were numb from the cold concrete.

And behind me stood a locked door.

The same door my husband had slammed in my face.

Ten minutes earlier, Michael had looked at me with complete indifference.

« If you want to argue, » he had said, « you can stay outside. Maybe you’ll finally learn some respect. »